


Nesting Habits

by perevision



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Backstory, Class Issues, Falconry, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perevision/pseuds/perevision
Summary: This is a story about Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth (Thad to his friends), and how he grew up wanting to be a superhero, a falconer, a spy, a great theatre actor...anything but a butler like his father.This is a story of how he became all of those things anyway.





	1. Hatchling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really, really old fic I wrote back in 2008, before the New 52 killed my fandom and the MCU happened. I keep wanting to go back to it, but I lost all my notes, and my writing style has changed so much... Please enjoy the snippets I managed to write.

**1955**

In a small town in southwest England lives a boy called Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth (or Thad, to most people who know him).

Thad Pennyworth is eight, and he wants to be a superhero.

At night he reads Dan Dare and Buck Rogers under the bedclothes with his torch, long after his mother has sent him to bed. The only time he fails to do this is when his father is home from London. His father is a butler for the Warde family, who live in the manor house of Squerryes Court for two months of the summer and in London the rest of the time. Thad thinks that being a butler is a little like having super powers, because his father knows, every single second, exactly what Thad happens to be doing. Even when they're in different rooms.

Jarvis Pennyworth comes back to town for the summer, so Thad puts away his comics, and tries to keep busy: in addition to his usual chores, he helps his mother in the garden and his little sister with her schoolwork, and runs errands for his father on his bicycle. He does his own schoolwork, and almost manages to keep his concentration from drifting off into space, or Arctic wastelands, or tropical jungles. 

Almost.

His father finally notices this one day, and Thad ends up listening, head bowed so his dad won't see his face, to a lecture on the need for constant self-awareness, the pressing concern of family responsibility, and how he needs to lose his habit of "faffing off" into idle fancies that will do him no good when he has to become the family provider.

But Jarvis Pennyworth is not usually at home, and while Thad is not idle, neither is he impressed with his father's sense of financial urgency. No matter how often he hears his parents talking about them, the world of monthly wages, mortgage loans and the Inland Revenue is far more alien to him than outer space.

Anyway, outer space is more interesting. At least in the 25th century, and especially for Buck Rogers.

Thad finds Earth, in the 20th century, much less absorbing. In fact he has hardly any interest at all in his immediate surroundings until one fine spring day his class takes a trip to nearby Eagle Heights, the bird sanctuary and falconry centre.

Everyone's a little frightened and awed by the birds. Thad stares as if he's never seen one in his life. The falconers croon and call; birds fly back and forth. An eagle shuffles on its tall perch, set above the rail that most of the other birds occupy. An owl descends softly on a handler's gloved fist, and she croons and hisses to it, feeding it a tiny scrap of meat. A kestrel calls, and other birds answer it. The birds shift their feet, stretch their wings, shake themselves like wet dogs.

A rustle among all the movement catches Thad's eye, and he looks up to meet the bright, powerful gaze of a slate-coloured peregrine falcon with dark marks like arrowheads running down her breast. He's never seen a living thing look so angry before.

The falconers have noticed the boy and the bird staring at each other. One of them brings a glove to Thad, wraps his wrist with leather before he puts the glove on--it's far too big for him--and shows him how to use the jesses and the hood. Then they call the hawk to him, and Thad's throat tightens as the bird sweeps up and settles on his arm, waits as the leather jesses round her ankles are tied firmly to his glove and the blinding hood fastened to her head.

It's proving harder than he thought, this...falconing business. He is badly startled by the freakishly large, sharp meathook claws that dig into his glove, that shift and shuffle, pricking along his wrist. He tries to hold the bird as far away from his face as possible, but she's terribly heavy; his arm wobbles a bit and the bird loses her grip and dangles in the jesses, flapping like a chicken strung up for the pot.

Thad's first thought is _ohmyGod it's going to cut me open_ , but then he remembers Dan Dare and Dan would never be afraid of a silly old bird. So he bites his lip and tries to keep breathing so he can hear the falconer explaining very quickly and softly how "bating"--what the bird's doing--often happens when a falcon and its handler are starting to get acquainted, and the thing to do is to hold still and let it lever itself back onto the wrist again.

Thad's arm aches until it feels like it might snap off by the time the falcon claws her way back onto his wrist. But he says nothing. After a moment or two the falconer gently removes the hood, cupping Thad's elbow to support it so he doesn't wobble again. The raptor shakes her head and then leans back and to one side, and fixes Thad with her stare as if she's memorising his face. The boy stares back, wondering how he never noticed that birds had expressions before. The peregrine looks fierce and furious and proud, and Thad thinks that she's the most beautiful animal in the world.

They put pieces of meat on a wooden post, and let him and a few other children fly the birds at the meat. Some birds stay on the post, and the falconers have to whistle or call for them. Some fly back only to their handlers. The peregrine keeps her eye on Thad, and swoops back as if pulled by a rope; she returns so fast he barely remembers to put his glove up in time.

He's petted and praised by the bird handlers and his teacher, but he barely hears any of it. The following lecture about the sanctuary and the dying art of falconry is a blur, and Thad hardly notices the small tea they provide afterward, even though teatime is usually his favourite part of the day. He goes home with his heart singing.

-end one-


	2. Fledgling

**1962**

Thad Pennyworth is fifteen, and he wants desperately to be a falconer. 

He's already got a job with Eagle Heights for the summer, helping with the birds three days a week; he starts next Tuesday, and he's terribly excited.

Then Jarvis arrives in Kent, with The Family, and Thad realises that he really should have told his father about his hawking ambition.

He's never had such a row with the old man in his life. Jarvis never raises his voice, and Thad's picked up the closed-mouth policy from his father. This time is different: fury and malice rise in Jarvis's stern tones, contempt and sarcasm that Thad has never heard before and immediately dislikes. They have been angry with each other before, but this time Thad feels as if he could choke on the words he can't say.

Jarvis' will has been through stronger fires, and has met with far greater resistance than his son's. Thad boils with resentment, but his father's word and wish is absolute law in his house; unquestionable.

Thad is allowed to keep the summer job, because he's already on the payroll and it wouldn't do to break a contract, but it's understood - _isn't_ it, Thaddeus? - that it's _only_ a summer, and _only_ a job. In the meantime, he's to come up with his father to Squerryes Court on the weekends, and begin his training with the Family. 

Thad isn't unaware of how this works. He's read _The Red Pony_ and _The Sword In The Stone_ several hundred times--he is fully aware of how the relationship between A Boy And His Chosen Animal serves as a metaphor for freedom of the soul, social liberation,  &c., &c. He knows his father wants him to notice the contrast between the very physical, even grimy work at the Heights and the refined existence at the Family house, with its hierarchies upstairs and downstairs. Fighting with his father over something like this doesn't just feel pointless; it feels clichéd. So he bites his tongue on all the awful words he wants to throw in Jarvis's face, and submits.

The first week is...even more difficult than Thad thought. It's tedious work, and often unpleasant. He doesn't often get to take the birds out; his job is to feed them and clean up after them and soothe them when they're restless, which is almost always. But he feels cleaning out cages is a small price to be near the birds as often as he is.

They're used to him now; he's come up here often enough, over the years. He wonders if his smell is in the leather gear, or on the perches. It's silly to think it, as he knows very well how often leathers are replaced and the mews cleaned out.

On Saturday morning, well scrubbed and dressed in his best suit, Thad gets in his father's Morris Minor and is driven up to Squerryes Court.

Jarvis has been with the Wardes for nearly as long as Thad's been alive. Thad has actually worked up at Squerryes Court several times over the years. There's a lot to be done at these old family homes, and it's needed to be done for hundreds of years: feed the animals, prepare the house for the summer visits, shut it up again afterward, take in the crops, cut the hay, care for the vegetables and herbs in the cook's garden, maintain the wildflowers and roses in the main grounds...The house fairly overflows with tradition, and nothing is dearer to Jarvis's heart than tradition.

The family themselves, Thad has observed, are far less interested in appearances and tradition than his father is. He suspects that part of the reason is that they simply don't know how much effort goes into keeping the old place in order, but Thad knows that some things shouldn't even be thought in public. 

“Watch your manners this time, son,” Jarvis says gruffly. “The young masters don’t mind your company, but the family is entertaining this summer.”

 _Entertaining_ , Thad knows from previous (embarrassing) experience, didn’t mean that the Wardes would be especially funny, but that they’re having guests. That often helps break up the tedium of working at the manor, especially if they happen to be the Warde sons’ friends: James and Henry are friendly, down-to-earth boys, and so are most of their mates. “Who are they?” 

“They’re the master’s guests. Business partners, from America.”

“Oh,” says Thad, sinking back down into his seat.

His father eyes him for a moment, then turns his attention back to driving. “They’re bringing their son Thomas,” he says, not quite nonchalantly. Then as Thad sits up again, “Now you’re not to take any liberties. The young man is some years older than you - he won’t want some common boy hanging about wanting to kill time. I hear he’s studying to be a doctor.”

“Oh,” says Thad again. He turns back toward the window, leaning his elbow against the sill.

 

That would have been the end of that, except for the fact of Thomas Wayne, who is the first American Thad has ever met. Tom Wayne is energetic, affable, talkative, and completely willing to spend any amount of time with three teenage boys who are dying to hear what it’s like to live in America. 

He comes from Gotham, one of the biggest and richest cities in that enormous country. James and Henry swear they want to live there when they’re older, maybe even go to school there if their dad would let them. 

Thad isn’t so sure. He likes Britain--the mild unpredictability of the weather, the gentle hills of the countryside, the dramatic but not overwhelming beauty of the northern landscapes. America just seems terrifyingly large to him: the idea of driving all day to get halfway across a single state sounds uncomfortable and dull, and the image of skyscraper canyons populated by rushing, noisy people - American people - is rather claustrophobic. And how could you fly hawks in a city?

He carefully fails to mention this to the other three. Especially the bit about ' _American_ people'; that sounds just like his father. Thad fears that a tiny bit of his father has sneaked into his thoughts, to keep an eye on them and dispense censure and disapproval.

About his other occupation Thad fails to hide anything. James and Henry already know about Eagle Heights, and one day it’s inadvertently mentioned - to Thad’s great discomfort; he can only hope his father doesn't hear about it.

Tom, of course, immediately insists on them taking him to see Thad work. 

Neither James nor Henry had been as interested in Thad’s job as Tom is - friendly though they are, they were raised in very different circles to those that make up Thad’s daily orbit, and so there is always something in them that Thad feels he can’t quite connect with. None of them mention it, of course, but it’s always been a given that there was a little distance between them in that regard.

There is something about Tom that does not so much bridge that distance as vaporise it completely. He is curious and well-spoken and very, very engaging to everyone: staff and visitors. James and Henry, swept up in his energy, are as excited and talkative as any teenagers could be. Thad has never been tempted to “show off” in his whole life, but he runs about and explains the feeding centre, the nesting area and the training grounds as if he owned them.

His favourite part of the day is having his friends meet the birds that he’s been allowed to bond with. Charlie--Charles II, their youngest goshawk—embarrasses him a bit by being grumpy and unmanageable, but Miriam the red-tailed hawk catches a piece of flung meat beautifully. Best of all the Frost Queen - their most recent acquisition, a year-old gyrfalcon - has finally learned Thad’s own personal whistle and consents to sit on his wrist and fly back and forth as a demonstration. They take the Queen out and Thad has her catch a sparrow and a passing finch, and the other boys are so impressed Thad seriously believes his chest might explode from all the puffing out it’s doing.

James and Henry have to return to the house for their tennis lesson, but Tom stays till the end of Thad’s shift, chatting to all the local folk who are just as curious about the visiting American as he is about them. He catches up to Thad as the younger boy is just finishing the mucking-out in the mews. 

Tom coughs a little at the smell. “And I thought the pigeons in Gotham smelled bad. Doesn’t it bother you?”

Thad grins, still raking the fouled, damp hay into the trough for disposal. “Nah. I mean, it’s part of the job, innit? Er, isn’t it, I mean,” he adds. Jarvis doesn’t like slang.

“And you like the job, I can tell,” Tom says, grinning back.

Thad leans on his rake and sighs. “It’s _amazing_ ,” he says, a boy in stained trousers, an ancient shirt and crusty wellies standing nearly ankle-deep in bird muck. 

Tom bursts out laughing, and Thad can’t manage to keep a straight face. They snicker together, making the birds shift and rustle as Thad walks between the perches to scatter shovelfuls of fresh hay. Miriam perks up when Thad approaches, and he feeds her a bit of kibble, being careful of his fingers.

“You want to stroke her?” he asks Tom. The young man’s eyes light up. Thad takes a kerchief and a large discarded tail feather out of his pocket and holds the feather in his teeth while he wraps his arm with the cloth. Then he unties Miriam, lets her hop up on his arm and carries her carefully over to Tom. 

“We don’t let visitors touch ‘em - we don’t even touch ‘em ourselves that much - but they like it when you do this, look.” He strokes Miriam’s outthrust chest with the feather, and she ruffles happily. Entranced, Tom takes the feather and does the same.

“I saw you talking to the other handlers,” Thad says, in a low voice so as not to startle the hawk. “Surprised they didn't talk your ear off, they're that glad to have someone asking them about the work."

"It's fascinating," Tom says, in the same low voice. He has a soft, intense way of speaking that makes people lean forward and listen, as if he's imparting some deep truth that they'll carry their whole lives. He listens well, too, taking in the boys' chatter and the falconers' explanations alike with the same grave expression and steady gaze that Thad is sure will make him very popular with future patients. "Have they all been here long?"

"Some of them been here years - er, _have_ been, I mean. Most of the senior falconers…that’s all they’ve ever been, and their fathers too. Hawksmen, man and boy. It's more than a job - it's their whole life.”

Jarvis doesn't even dignify Thad’s hawking with the title of "job"--he calls it an "awkward penchant”, as if it’s some sort of drug habit.

"It's funny," says Tom. "These men lead lives that they fill with about a hundred tiny, quiet things to do. And these things are so insignificant to the rest of the world that we never even knew they exist, or that someone needs to do them. And yet, here are these animals - these beings - whose lives completely depend on these tiny, unknowable things that you do every day. Who would die, or go crazy, or hurt themselves otherwise." He strokes Miriam's breast with the feather again, and looks up from the bird to grin at Thad. "You're right, you know. It _is_ amazing."

Thad can't answer; he doesn't trust his voice. He can only give Tom a wobbly smile and hope Tom knows how grateful he is to have one person in his life, at least, who understands.

 

The Waynes have to leave Kent before the week is out—they have business in Southampton, then in London, then it’s back to Gotham. James and Henry are visiting an aunt in London for the week and can accompany Tom. Thad helps serve at their last dinner, but can't exchange more than brief smiles; next day he is kept busy helping his father prepare the transport, and isn’t even allowed to see Tom off.

He gets back to their little house late in the evening, tired to the bone, his eyes aching from suppressed misery and anger. His mother serves him soup and a little boiled beef; his twelve-year-old sister, who has already finished her supper, comes and sits quietly with him until he’s finished.

A couple of weeks later, when Thad goes to check their box at the Post Office, among the bills and letters, there is a small packet addressed to him. He tears it open right in front of the postmistress, who gives him a look of disapproval.

There is a single sheet of folded paper and when he unfolds it something falls to the ground with a faint ringing noise. It’s a silver tiepin adorned with a stooping hawk. It looks like it costs more than all of Thad’s clothes and books and earthly possessions combined.

The paper said: _Never had a more interesting summer. I’m sorry we couldn’t say goodbye properly, but it seems more appropriate not to. Here’s something to remind you to come visit me in Gotham someday, when you’re a proper hawkmaster and I’m a decent doctor. Tom_

Thad hasn’t felt this satisfied, this _validated_ , since he was eight years old.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Alfred's dad was really called Jarvis. I know Alfred existed before Tony Stark's butler Edwin Jarvis, but I don't know when Jarvis Pennyworth first appeared.


End file.
